Small War
by Madame-de-Sade
Summary: Germany/fem!Austria. The pianist met the soldier. She fall in love, but was he the right one? There was also a second couple Poland/fem!Lithuania... and bombs and planes. After all it was war...
1. Chapter 1

Warnings - the whole story is during II World War, so there will be some mentions of nazi - ideas, which I don't support and the image of Germany, Prussia and fem!Austria, which are not mine, are made only for this story.

Chapter one.

* * *

„Nnno, I will not beat you." Ludwig hissed through his teeth ( and German always sounds like a bark).

Sophie's cabinet sank in the dark, but it was a good darkness. Quiet and warm. Graphite. Interspersed with scattered orange rays. It enfolded soft chair and furniture with rounded edges. As in the cozy house, not like in the border military camp.

BANG – and again, rusty red glow lit up the horizon outside the window. Bombing. Her eyes flashed purple from the glow. Sophie looked down and slowly let the air out. Her heart was pounding, painfully, constantly ("Did he hear it…?". She thought and the body quivered almost convulsively.)

On the countertop in the colour of a cinnamon, on the desk among the silver plated fountain pens were scattered photographs of fair – haired, smooth combed man. They were, of course, black and white (we have 1942). Sometimes blurred. Sophie, when she found them in the archive, long looked before she understood.

Photos of the interrogations. Photos of the interrogations which were conducted by Ludwig.

Several pictures with a whip, a few with a dagger.

Ludwig was licking his fingers (and it had to be blood, red blood is seen even in black and white photographs.). Ludwig was smiling at least disturbing.

Sophie never seen him so beautiful.

In several pictures she could see interrogated. They were once human beings. But when you were looking on it, you could have doubts. Looking at Ludwig – no doubt.

"Űbermench" Thought Sophie.

Photo fall on the desk from her hand. After all they all fall. She stared at them and her eyes grew bigger, bigger, bigger and her mouth narrower, narrower, narrower. A skin began to burn.

Sophie did not like war, Sophie played the piano ( "Talented survive" Her grandmother repeated often.) And when she played Strauss' waltz even Fűhrer listened. Wehrmacht soldiers grumbled, but never too loud, not to drown out the melody.

The waltz passed, moved by their lips, their ears and necks, banging in military orders which answered him with quiet knock.

"Sehr gut" Fűhrer said and he sent acknowledgment by trusted colleagues.

Exceptionally strong handshake – Sophie groaned softly. Whispered "sorry" and blue but burning eyes. The face that was embarrassed by its own serious. Ludwig.

And then for many months, in a room full of people, in the operas, the theatres, the openings Sophie played for Ludwig. Because she did not know how to write other letters.

Her fingers glided over the keys and the word suddenly became like those keys, black and white.

The war.

"I must find him." Heart pounded and lungs run out of air.

He quickly advanced. Fűhrer recommendation.

But that was not Sophie who found Ludwig, it was him who found her.

"Do you remember me?" He asked abruptly (perhaps to hide the tremble in his voice).

"Of course!" She said with a smile (Ludwig should hug her tightly and oh…).

But Ludwigs' eyes narrowed into blue crystals. Ludwig had responsibilities, obligations of a state! And it was nothing that Sophie's gaze gravitated more. And Sophie was proud. To time.

Forgetfulness is a great art, especially when you didn't forget, when you couldn't forget.

First time – they were pretending that it was by accident. Sophie pretended that she drank wine. Ludwig pretended that he drank wine. ("Das Rheingold" Bitter and bad)

First time was embarrassing and strange.

"We will determine terms." Ludwig tossed casually. "Twice a week, something like that."

And Sophie tried not to smile in a silly, naïve, sudden and unexpected happiness.

She did not know Ludwig. She knew about it. She knew about it, too well.

Sometimes Ludwig was violent, but for Sophie was good. He was awkward, warm and good. He had the rough soldiers' hands and when he touched her, he tried not to leave bruises.

But Sophie felt Ludwigs' hands. And she knew they were lying.

These photos, this was the missing piece in the puzzle.

"You are different than you are trying to be." She whispered, almost mockingly, like naughty child. ( satisfaction ) She hoped that Ludwig hit her.

Ludwig predicted that.

[The war is all around us, you are so delicate, I have to protect you, you can't deny it, I know it.]

(You do not know me, you are too afraid.)

[I have to protect you.

I must protect you.

I must protect you

From myself.]

( I love you, you don't believe me.)

"Nnno, I will not beat you." Ludwig hissed through his teeth.

And he didn't know how much he was wrong


	2. Chapter 2

I named fem!Lithuania Gintarė which is Lithuanian name for women and means amber which was in the medieval ages and later very important for Lithuanian economy.

_Marsz, marsz Dąbrowski*(….) _the line of Polish anthem – march, march Dąbrowski.

Jan Henryk Dąbrowski was a Polish general, who formed Polish Legion in Italy during Napoleonic era.

* * *

Chapter two.

* * *

"Dammit, too many people. How many of them are there?" He said leaning his forehead against the bark of a tree, which they didn`t have enough strength to gnaw. Above the valley hung fog so thick that it could be cut with a knife and so white that it could be greased bread. They ate bread something like month ago and then they hunted for frogs, which, after the winter, they have found only a few.

"The sun was setting bloodlessly, which allowed to believe that, despite the volleys into the air and words on the wind, the sky was clear and anaemic, because for sky didn't matter what happens here in forests, sky didn't care that in here we were dying of hunger and there in camp they cooked potatoes and cabbage, raise ducks and rabbits and I could swear I saw a big cow" The first said.

"You see cows everywhere" The second replied.

"No, we don`t die:" The first said. "Because, there is some justice in this world, because the ration is on our side, the ration likes balance and when she sees so many tanks, she stays on the other side of the barricades, so we have the ration, because we must have something and grenades are over. I have only three bullets, when I shoot them I can become a saint or even a bishop, I will be innocent and undefiled as the first spring day, which was not in this country for six years. No, not now, let the bullets be, one for me, one for you and one for the devil, but not now, not now. Now I sneak up to the camp. I will take the food. I will take the brawn and sausages and marinated eel. They will not get us, because of hunger."

"Don't go" The second said. "Death likes odd numbers."'

"Don`t be afraid, my heart, I will return in the morning. I can't longer tolerate, as my intestines play _marsz, marsz Dąbrowski*._ And why we have in our anthem so many abomination, as if the pilgrimage to the Italy and where were those from Italy, they stood on the other side of the mirror, because we had the ration, we had a raison d'etre and Krauts had Zyklon B and submarines and it is so easy impress those muffs when you have submarines, so it is like this, when you live in the shoe. And I don't say a word about those second muffs, all the plagues of Egypt on them and the pyramid into your eye Napoleon and your mother, worthy daughter of her daughters, all lanterns revolutions, grandmother and great – grandmother of those hanged and traitors, let them the land of Vichy birth stones, let them fish will leave bellies up." The first curses. " They leave us alone, alone, we can only have a beautiful view of their back. Alone, alone, but I am not lonely, because I have you and you have me. I will take care of you and you will be waiting for me, because I must have a place to come back. This is a fair division of responsibilities, don't you think? Because I admit this trap for stray torpedoes was a bad idea and I shouldn't take you as a bait for that bear, but it was my arm which was pulled from the joint and he ate my BB gun. So forgive me my heart, just wait here!"

These were the last words of Feliks.

"In the camp are gathered all those fuckers who wanted to do the paradise on earth for us, although they didn't distinguish their right hand form left ass cheek and they drove the barbed wire one pair of animals of each order, family, genus, species and race, the Aryan, non-Aryan, bit of everything, but there were not women, only Sodomites. Though they are not so stupid, they cut all the bushes around. You will have to crawl. Crawl, crawl. Life never looked otherwise." That said Feliks in his thoughts. It was Feliks's first lie.

Why lie?

The same sun that rose on the banks of the Neris, that illuminates the way in the forest, that helped to look strawberries, that shone so proudly on the butt of his first and last revolver, the same sun looked at him now with calm eyes. Between agony and death had to be probably the point that you knew everything. And the sun knew. "Dammit, you could set faster. She is hungry. I am hungry. How many more? Why do we always have jinx? Why did I start lying?"

It would be impossible to sneak behind the fence of the camp, selected land for all those hungry, selected land for one chosen nation, which peeled killing another nations as a point of honour. He froze. He listened. Small break during climbing. Small brake during it you can licked your bleeding fingers. His own blood was quite tasty. The deads were not dying. The deads were not hungry. Above his head he heard the hiss of the wires. He saw the camp. In the camp something had happened. "Jump" he heard death. "Jump, I will catch you, before they. You will be mine, only mine and you will never be theirs. See that building? It is a granary. There are held stocks. And there? There is a watchtower and in watchtower is a guard with the binoculars in his hand, you cannot approach, he shoots you. And there, on the other hand? Dear child, on the other hand? Headquarters. General. Is he sleeping? He has never slept. And this? You asked. Granary. Flour. Crackers. Smoked fish. Meat. Don't come. You don't have a chance. Jump. I will give you all of this, just jump, the deads do not die, do not freeze, do not starve. "

"You don't know anything" Feliks said. " Friends don't leave hungry friends. The deads don't have friends. I have. "

There was no time, only deads had time.

"I have. I have the time." Some confusion. Something was happening at the gate. Watchtower was empty. Hurry up. "I have a chance. I am lucky. It would be impossible without this luck. See? Groat. Lots of porridge. Sausage. A real sausage."

"And how do you want to return with all of this?"

"As I came, I have no choice, but I have time, I have a chance, I have luck and look I have food for my friend."

"You have time. You have a chance." He heard. "You have food" He heard the laugh of the wires. "But you don't have a friend."

"I am. I already am. Are you sleeping? Even so, why you don't wait for me? It was… the whole night? You are right, it is dawning. You have to hide deeper in the forest. Well done. But for me you don't have to hide. This…is me. I am eating. As I promised. I am. Are you…?

"The hiding place is under the turf. Next to the river. Under the roots of this huge pine tree. The marked stone. Behind this rotting beams, which was one a deer feeder. Among the ruins of the forester. A little bit further. On the right. On the left. Where else you could go? If you don't hurry up there will be no food for you." Feliks said and swallowed another bite of the sausage. "The second is for you, but you must hurry up." Above the camp streaked a thin smoke. The wind carried echo the smell of burning and the quiet quiet hiss. "I couldn't have hallucinations from hunger, because I was not hungry anymore." He said to himself, not believing his own words. "I am not hungry. I have food, but I have not anyone to give this food. I am eating, because I had a chance, because there in the camp…

In the camp, there was a great excitement, because they caught captive, probably one of those soldiers from partisan that were hiding in a forest.

"One, dammit. One, double person partisan. One, double person." Feliks repeated, hurriedly eating the last sausage. "One double person, double person." The road from forest to camp took just as much as repetition of words "The only double person." Repetition one hundred, a thousand and a hundred thousand times. "One double person" Feliks repeated and repeated, because he didn't remember any other pray. He took a deep breath.

"Are you sure, you have a second chance?" He heard a voice in his head.

He had no chance, no choice and nothing to lose. He was sorry for Gintarė and for this salty sausage. He was going to say Gintarė what he thought, but know they must ran away.


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter three.

* * *

In the cold, damp cell, Gintarė would be thinking about many things.

Gintarė would realize that she didn't remember the current of the war. She couldn't remember dates. But she saw many things when she closed her eyes.

She saw the dark green forest and bright flames of fire. She saw the moment when their squad, she and Feliks ( she would hesitate for a moment if she could name it her squad) was detected and attacked. She saw the air that was wavy from whistling bullets (she didn't hear the whistle, she didn't hear anything, but she was aware of the unimaginable noise – the shouts of the soldiers, groans of wounded, the explosions) She saw the eyes of one soldier, his eyes were pleading for help. She saw her own trembling hands that were sawing the feverishly pulsating wound. And she saw a stray bullet (yes, she was certain that she saw her, in a slow motion, things like this were always be seeing in a slow motion), which smashed the skull of the man that Gintarė tried to rescue.

But in the cold, damp cell Gintarė would not think about that dead soldier. She would think about the luck. Feliks. He had fever, he couldn't fight in that battle. She held him and he didn't tear too much when they went through the swamps. He only repeated "we can't we should…".

Dates… Gintarė tried to remember but she only saw the scraps of days.

The house was (and maybe even "is", but she had heard from partisans that it is better to say "was" and it is better to think "was") a large and wooden, situated on the edge of the forest, rather poor. But it had beauty, smelled of pine and resin. Gintarė loved the place in the attic under the large window on an old mattress. There grandfather taught her how to read also in Polish. There she red Polish books from her grandfather, it was a secret, because her father didn't approve this. All of them told about knights or soldiers and Gintarė red them over and over, even if she could tell them from her memory.

Attic was also the only safe place when her father was drank. A wooden ladder was not for him. ("You are a princess in the tower and I will be your brave knight!" Feliks once said)

Unfortunately the attic was right above the kitchen, she listened the conservation carefully. Gintarė had a large family. And they often visited and for father every visit was good occasion to drink. Lots of uncles, aunts with foreign odours, strange music. And they said with anger. Grandfather, when he was alive, laughed and said that his parents were also Poles, Russians and Lithuanians and it didn't bother anyone. Long time ago this things didn't bother anyone.

"Now it is different." Said uncles and aunts. "Now we can…"

They lowered voices and they pointed through the window. Outside were "they" the word was heavy like wet snow. Aunts said "they" and raised the cup of tea in a rapid motion. Uncles said "they' and clenched fists.

Gintarė was afraid. She was afraid, because "they", it was also Feliks.

They knew each other since childhood. Feliks ran faster than Gintarė but more often fell down. For a moment he was lying still and then jumped up and ran faster.

Gintarė sometimes wanted to yell "wait". But she never did.

In the begging they watched each other rather reluctant, but then Feliks gave Gintarė a book.

Then there were a lot of good and bad moments. Running through the forest, ragged knees. Making an army of chestnut soldiers. Making herbarium – Feliks was bored in the middle of notebook (in the cell Gintarė would regret that herbarium, even more than burned forest).

Feliks always laughed too loud and made various tricks. Gintarė couldn't be angry at him for too long time. Even when she almost drown (Gintarė claimed that it was Feliks fault, Feliks didn't deny, but he said that Gintarė was easily flooded).

Feliks had always said that his father was a soldier and was killed at the front. He showed a photo of handsome cavalry officer, proud, upright man on horseback. Picture was very wrinkled, because the boy always had it with him. Sometimes he cried. Not a single tear ran down his cheeks, but Gintarė knew that Feliks was crying. Then was long silence. And then he said quietly, seriously, slow and hot.

It was something sudden and engulfing as rapidly collapsing and exploding dawn night in him. Night and dawn. Dawn and night.

Gintarė liked Feliks' stories. They were like books. For hours she could listen the stories, listened the voice of her friend, warm, pious, perfumed oil as extreme unction. When the rain was falling from the sky there was no work on a farm, she just disappeared from her father's view and they were sitting at the attic and whispered. Gintarė liked rain.

Gintarė had never interrupted Feliks. She had never admitted that she heard once Feliks' mother when she was cursing the man who used and abandoned her. She had never said Feliks about that. And since the last war ended 20 year ago and Feliks was less than 10years, it was impossible that his father was a soldier and was killed at the front. Feliks couldn't lie. He believed in that or wanted to believe.

Gintarė understood that Feliks would like to have such a father – a proud soldier from the picture that was cut from the book.

When Gintarė's father discovered their friendship, he was very angry. And when he beat Gintarė for Feliks, she was able to bear it. She imagined herself that it is for Feliks and it hurt less.

In the cell she would be wondering if it could help now.

In the cell, she would remain herself Feliks's mother (and it would be guess, that she still "is" or just "was") slender, quick in her movements poor woman, always in well-ironed dress. A little haughty, swearing like a trooper, often complaining to the whole world. But every night she darned her son clothes without a word of complaint and always waiting with a plate of a hot soup. And when they ate dinner at a wooden table looking out of the window and waiting on, Gintarė wanted sometimes to hug her and ask for whom or for what else she was waiting. But she never did. She felt that it was waiting – perhaps for nothing and for anything – it had to be somehow inscribed in Polish.

And when they were leaving she tried to stop them. She was really yelling at Feliks, she screamed "I have enough! I have enough!" And she was so silent when Feliks answered. "But you have raised me like that." Then finally, with clenched fists, she said "Go, I will be waiting."

In the cell Gintarė would close her eyes and see colourful images. That autumn night, when she ran away from house and with Feliks went to partisans. (Dark blue and orange. Navy at the sky, orange on the leaves.) The small, impoverished house in which Feliks lived with mother (pearl colour). Father who suffered many from Poles (red as revenge). But above all, she saw Feliks (colour as bright as light and she really missed it).

In the cold, damp cell Gintarė would think about many, many things.

But now Gintarė didn't think about anything.

She felt a sharp pain, which disturbed in collecting thoughts. She couldn't even tell – if only she could say something, spitting blood from her bitten lips – from where the pain was. She couldn't even raise her hand – if only she could lose the rope and saw if the bones were broken.

Now everything looked like it was underwater.

Now Gintarė was drowning.

She could see grey corridor where they lead her. She looked at the dirty floor. (In the cell she would be wondering if it was good to write in the books about dirty floor.) She felt strange lack of light. "f…e…s…n" Single letters were tangled in her head. Gintarė wasn't able to understand her own mind. She could only think that the lack of the light was the worst in this everything.

The worst.

The light suddenly appeared.

It was dull and mild. Pearly white. Worryingly, as the sky completely covered with clouds.

It came from the open door at the end of the corridor. There was standing a tall, slender figure. They pushed her too him.

She was grabbed by strong, but delicate hands in black gloves.

Gintarė felt intoxicating scent. The smell ... scent of a man.

Gintarė was not so naive to thought that this was rescue.

Gintarė felt that she fell to the bottom.

The bottom was near.


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter four.

* * *

At first he saw himself and Gintarė, they were going out through the camp's gate. "I have never thought that I will have so short hair." He thought. He saw a couple of people, "myself and Gintarė". "Like myself. Like Gintarė." Man was tall and blond. "That is how I felt." Feliks said to himself. "I always knew that I outgrow Gintarė, but I have never expected that I cut my hair so short." Man's hair was smooth combed. "You have to be Kraut to have such a hairstyle." Feliks thought. And he realized that the couple were talking in a whisper. These were "they", Germans. "Look carefully." He ordered himself. Germans from the distance that was shorter than distance of the shoot were quite similar to humans.

Blond. This colour. So Feliks was also similar to Germans? No, Feliks had green eyes like a meadow and hair torn by the wind, because he loved everything what was alive and free. Ludwig (he didn't know his name), Ludwigs' eyes were like the sky without clouds, distant and cold, so inhuman like heaven without angels. Ludwig was German, it was so visible. "Gintarė had darker eyes." Feliks thought. "Because Gintarė looked at everything carefully." The eyes of the woman also were so focused that they became purple and sad, like the world just after sunset, just like the world that missed someone. But Gintarė was not German. Gintarė didn't wear glasses. She didn't have to. Gintarė could see by herself, she didn't need windows which separated her from trees and people. "Too bad." He thought suddenly and felt pity for Gintarė. "Nothing protects her from people and trees, and trees are less and less."

And yet the blond seemed familiar. He remained a little of the officer whose photo he found in the booklet and started worshipping. He didn't know who he was and how his photo went to the booklet, but he really wanted to believe that he could be his father. And now the thought that German could be his father, that his the biggest dream, the figure that he missed all his life could be similar to the German, was blasphemy. Because it was better to be an orphan than a son of a German. It was better to die as soon as it was possible than grew up as a German.

Feliks tried to stay calm. "Don't look at them. Wait. A few steps backwards. Slowly, cautiously. You must enter the camp. If they came out of it, you can go in. But don't look at them." Feliks looked. He couldn't stop looking at them, at their trembling from conversations lips. Yes, he understood German. He had to. But he didn't hear the words, but he knew that they were somehow important for him, for Gintarė.

Gintarė name was not mentioned, even once. Gintarė did not betray her name. Gintarė was silent all the time. It was very embarrassing for people who were asking, they wanted to get simple and short but accurate responses. Ludwig, when he led Sophie through the gate, didn't want to talk about Gintarė. He started rather automatically. He wanted to explain her something completely different, much more important than the fate of an accidental, probably uninformed and in addition very stubborn kid.

"How old can she be?" Sophie asked. Ludwig looked at tips of his military boots, as if he wondered if he could clean them better. Few now remember that those basic duties were really important.

"Certainly less than twenty, but how exactly, it is difficult to estimate." He said carefully as a student torn to answer. "For me maybe fifteen. But probably more. It is just the lack of food and general exhaustion of the body…."

He paused. General exhaustion of the body. Sounded dispassionately. Words didn't smell like blood. Ludwig could maintain indifference.

"It is not you who examined her, right?"

In Sophie's question he heard mockery. Sophie knew how false sounded "the general exhaustion of the body", she knew that Ludwig did not retain such a peace when he personally participated in the arduous process which guarantees the general exhaustion of the body, led by will of God and executioner in black glove of SS General.

"No" Ludwig drawled. "Not me. He."

"So, General trusts that the prisoner really has something to say." Sophie summed. It was also a mockery. If the prisoner could say something, General could make it sooner or later. When questioned did not know anything significant Ludwig could take care of him. General specialized in interrogation, Ludwig in killing. The division of tasks helped in organizations of the camp life.

"Are you trying to irritate me?" Ludwig asked solemnly.

"If I really wanted I will do it right." Sophie retorted.

There was silence.

"Yes, you are right." Ludwig replied after some time, with humility.

He would have never hit Sophie. He decided. Because Sophie was the most important. He did not know that he was the most important for Sophie and that Sophie really wanted to be hit by him.

Why?

Every German behaved like a machine or an animal. Sophie was Austrian, so she perfectly knew Ludwig. Even Ludwig. Especially Ludwig. He was himself only when he lost self – control. And only smell of blood could make that. That was what Sophie figured, but she had never seen how Ludwig killed.

"I talked with him. I saw pictures."

"With the General?" Ludwig tried hard not to look into her eyes

"With the General." Sophie confirmed earnestly, with pride and anger. And Ludwig saw in the corner of his eyes that her face flushed. After all, it was cold. Documentations of the hearings, General shouldn't let unauthorized persons into the archive. Especially not Sophie. Sophie should be protected. Ludwig was afraid that Sophie started hate him, but even more terrified him the thought that he could discover in Sophie similar, twin instinct, killer instinct, or even worse, the instinct of the victim. He turned sharply and look straight into her eyes, she gave him a hard glance. He came so close that the tips of their shoes almost touching. He felt a gentle warm of her body, the smell of starch, ink and soap. He held his breathe, Sophie also held her breathe.

Feliks held his breathe. Here in his eyes, there had been some very significant change, in his eyes something incredible happened, something like transformation. He didn't see two Germans anymore, he saw two gazing in each other people, lonely in the winter landscape. People like other people. Now alone on the edge of the forest, similar to Feliks and Gintarė. Very, very similar to him, to Gintarė. And then he saw Ludwig kissing Sophie. He gave a wild, despairing cry of protest. Never, he had never thought like that about Gintarė, Gintarė was his best friend almost sister, almost…He could not believe that he was betrayed by his own scream. Before he fell stunned by a rifle butt, he thought that he had never kissed Gintarė.

He regained consciousness a few minutes later and a few meters away. The camp gate was already closed behind them.

"Get up." Ludwig snapped.

Feliks rose slowly from his knees, trying to as soon as it is possible to discern the situation. Shoes, lots of them. People around you. Military boots.

Rusty air. No, blood on the strand. Hair in eyes. Throbbing pain in temples. The air vibrates. Knees straighten. Feliks did not raise his eyes. He pretended that he was more dizzy than actually.

Shoes. Murmur. Silence. Again murmur. Shoes. Shuffling. They parted. You could hear steps. He went.

Who?

"On guard!" Ludwig tugged his hair. Only at this point Feliks realized that he had to sneak into the camp to save Gintarė. It obviously did not work.

He failed Gintarė. " Do not think about Gintarė. No."

Anger was not the best adviser. Feliks was angry at himself. He would be even more angry after what he would do. With a pure rage, which told him to forget about himself, about Gintarė, about everything, he kicked Ludwig in the shin. And Ludwig broke his leg. Feliks fainted. It is the reason that he didn't see the General. Ludwig saluted.

"Too fast, Herr Ludwig, too fast." General said. His voice was calm, maybe even sad. He sounded like parent who tried to calm down two quarrelling kids. A little amused, a bit sad. "I will take care of him."

Then Ludwig paled


End file.
